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November 15th 2010    Tim Candler

    There was a strange mist and a light frost this morning.   The Close Mockingbird has reached that point in his year when he reduces voice to the occasional cackle.  He'll start singing again when morning lengthens and Snowdrops or perhaps Daffodils show.

    It has been dry, so I imagine his Alatus berries are a disappointment to him.  Difficult time of year for all of us, which I suppose is why November and December are filled with festive gathering, jingle bells and these sorts of odious things. 

    

    For those misfortunate enough to have already drunk our swimming pool of beer, these two months are hardest of all.   And probably about now a person like me should seriously consider adopting the habit and cowl then quietly disappear toward a monastery.

     But I am not certain they allow television.  And I understand they expect a rigor that requires early morning cheerfulness, which is not something I have managed since those days of beer at breakfast time.

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